


Stupid Capitalist Holiday

by LittlebutFiery



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M, Relationship Advice, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 01:37:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4687505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittlebutFiery/pseuds/LittlebutFiery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Illya realizes he forgot to do anything for Gaby on Valentine's Day, he turns to Napoleon for advice...but Napoleon is less than helpful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stupid Capitalist Holiday

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: Somehow the final paragraph went missing when I first uploaded this. It's back now!

Napoleon quite liked Casablanca. The weather was lovely, the food was good, and the views of the city were spectacular from their hotel.

Not that he could see much of it, as he was more than slightly distracted by the beautiful young concierge on his lap. She smelled like roses and tasted like oranges, and there were definitely worse ways to spend an afternoon.

She was so distracting that he didn’t even jump when the door to the room slammed open and a very agitated Illya all but ran in. The Soviet’s voice was tight and even a little bit scared as he said, “Cowboy. We have problem.”

Napoleon sighed, slumping back against the back of his chair. The woman on his lap looked extremely confused and more than a little bit offended by the interruption. The American sighed again and grumbled, “Now what?”

“This isn’t for her,” Illya scowled, jerking his head to indicate the concierge.

Napoleon glared at his partner before turning back to the woman and saying, “Do you mind excusing us for a minute?”

The woman huffed in outrage, tucked her shirt back in, and stormed out of the room. Napoleon leaned back again, rubbing his temples, and said, “This better be good, Peril.”

“Cowboy, I’m in…how do you say…hot water? With Gaby. Very hot water,” Illya sounded desperate.

“You interrupted my date so I can help you fix yours?” Napoleon raised an eyebrow.

“Shut up,” Illya scowled. “We both know you are good with women. I…I need your advice.”

“I’ll have to keep the recording of this conversation. The KGB’s best, asking little old me for help?” Napoleon smirked. “Priceless.”

“This is serious,” Illya snapped. One of his hands was twitching.

“What did you do, and what can I do for you?” Napoleon asked.

There was a long, long silence before suddenly Illya burst out, agitated, “This is all the fault of your stupid capitalist holiday!”

Napoleon blinked, confused. “Care to elaborate which one, Peril?”

“Valentine’s Day!” Illya all but yelled.

“Oh,” was all Napoleon could manage. He paused. “When is that, anyway?”

“Today,” Illya growled. “I have trouble keeping track of all these Western holidays, so I forgot.”

“Okay, take Gaby out for dinner tonight,” Napoleon waved him off.

“We have mission tonight,” Illya frowned. “Lunch was only time I could have taken her out for a meal, and I didn’t.”

“Okay, strike one. Not completely unredeemable,” Napoleon tried to calm him. “What did you get her?”

Illya blinked. “What?”

“You know, a gift? What did you get her?” Napoleon himself was confused by Illya’s confusion at the concept.

“It’s…not her birthday, or Christmas. I have no problem with giving her gifts, but I do with giving gifts to get out of trouble. I’m not going to bribe her,” Illya scowled, offended.

Napoleon’s eyes widened with something like fear and Illya demanded, “What? What is it?”

“So you did get the big two – birthday and Christmas,” Napoleon replied. “Anniversaries are important too, but you two haven’t been together that long.”

“I’m not an idiot, Cowboy,” Illya growled.

“Well, you need to keep brushing up on your Western customs regardless. Ladies expect presents on Valentine’s Day,” Napoleon smirked, seeing all the color drain out of Illya’s face. “So, what did you get her?”

“I…” was all Illya could manage.

“Strike two,” Napoleon said. Illya slumped heavily into a chair, rubbing his face. “Well, did you at least get her a card?”

Again, Illya looked puzzled. Napoleon sighed rather dramatically. “You know…a cutesy Hallmark card saying how much you love her? A card?”

“Hallmark…card?” Illya repeated. Napoleon hung his head. “In Russia, we do not give cards. Waste of paper.”

“Strike three, Peril, you’re out,” Napoleon said, looking back up. “Good luck.”

“Can’t I just…get her something?” Illya practically pleaded.

“Good luck finding any cards or halfway decent presents this late in the day. Most stores will probably be cleaned out,” Napoleon replied, feeling a little sorry for his hulking Russian partner. “Sorry, comrade, but you’re up a creek without a paddle.”

Illya pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking, before he said, “Fine. I make my own paddle. Thank you, Cowboy.”

He was gone in a flash. Napoleon called after him, “If you see the concierge again, please send her my way.”

 

Gaby returned to her dark hotel room, tired and grumpy. She had hoped for a candlelit meal with Illya, and instead she had gone on a mission and gotten punched in the face – already an impressive bruise was swelling up by her eye. Gaby tossed her coat down and poured herself a glass of vodka, hoping to numb the pain.

She was also hoping for a chat with Illya (once again, her fiancé on this mission), who had managed to catastrophically fail at doing anything for her on Valentine’s Day. This hope was dashed too, as he was nowhere to be found.

Instead, a small, hastily scribbled note sat on her bed – Investigating warehouse you learned about tonight. I won’t wake you when I return.

Gaby scowled, crumpled up the note, and flopped down on her bed. Almost immediately she let out a yelp of pain, as her head had landed just the wrong way on something under her pillow.

Cursing in German, she pulled out the offending object, a small box wrapped in paper. She pulled the paper off the box before realizing it was a letter, which she carefully smoothed out and unfolded.

It was in the same angular handwriting as Illya’s quick note, but the writing was cleaner and much more precise – clearly, he had spent more time on this one. The letter was short, only a few sentences.

‘Gaby,’ it read, ‘I am sorry for not treating you as you deserved today. It was not right, it will not happen again, and it certainly does not reflect my feelings.

‘Solo informed me that it is customary to give gifts and cards on Valentine’s Day, and so here you will find my letter and gift to you.’

Gaby, overwhelmed by curiosity, set down the letter and opened the little box. Inside sat a small silver ring with a beautiful amethyst as the stone. It was an amethyst unlike anything Gaby had ever seen, purple ringed by clear stone. She picked the letter back up, holding the ring.

‘I hope you do not mind I repurposed your ring from our first mission. This new ring is the base of the old one from Rome, with an amethyst from Morocco. One part for each of our missions together. I am sorry that was all I could do for you, with such a short notice. I have already made reservations for dinner tomorrow. Happy Valentine’s Day, my little chop shop girl. Illya.”

Gaby smiled at the letter and slipped the ring on her finger. Illya’s note was terse, certainly, but she knew how much effort it must have taken him to be even that open and affectionate in writing. Perhaps he hadn’t failed at their first Valentine’s Day together, after all.

 

When Illya returned to their room, hours later, he found Gaby fast asleep with the ring on her finger, clutching his letter tightly to her chest. Despite her long day and the brilliant bruise on her cheek, she was smiling.


End file.
